


Cold Hands, Warm Cock

by sleapyGazelle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Halloween 2017, Hand Jobs, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Temperature Play, Unnamed characters - Freeform, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 11:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleapyGazelle/pseuds/sleapyGazelle
Summary: Unable to fall asleep, his thoughts stray to his lover. When said lover materializes in the room, things take a turn for the colder...and hotter.





	Cold Hands, Warm Cock

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ashes and Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12575832) by [bluphacelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluphacelia/pseuds/bluphacelia). 



> This is my first attempt at smut. I was going for crack, based on a weird thought I had one day: 'imagine a vampire giving a handjob, how cold would that be?' It would not be comfortable unless you had a specific kink...   
> This didn't turn out all that cracky after all though, but I hope it's enjoyable~~ If you somehow found this alone (how?), please read Blu's brilliant, and actually serious, piece first :)

Covers long-discarded, he tossed and turned in bed, trying to fall asleep. It was no use; his mind was on his occasional night visitor. _He's real_ , his heart insisted, while his brain urged him to weigh the evidence. Where did He come from, where did He go? How had He returned? What was their relationship —if it could even be called that—based on? Between those who called him mad and the voice that moaned his name in his ear, which was true? 

Sighing, he rolled onto his back and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. In the stars that exploded on the backs of his eyelids was His face. 

As if by extension of that image, a rustling sounded by the window, followed by a barely-there dip in his bed. If he hadn't grown accustomed to the sensation over the past…however long it'd been, he probably wouldn't have even noticed it. _Weeks? Months?_ The days had begun to blur together, time stretching and stalling between His visits. 

Hard fingers began undoing the drawstring of his pajama bottoms. Never one for small talk, was He? Cold knuckles brushed the bare skin of his waist as his boxers were pulled down, and a shiver ran up his spine. 

Finally opening his eyes, he sat up, chest bursting with emotion as he took in the sight of the head bowed before him, planting an icy kiss to his hip. Dick hardening in anticipation of what was to come, he ran a hand through His soft hair before tightening his fist and tugging on the locks. 

He sighed contentedly before turning His gaze up. “You know I love it when you tie me up, but let me try something different tonight.” 

Interest piqued, he cautiously withdrew his hand from silken locks and leaned back, cocking his head to the side. “What did you have in mind?”

With a devious smile that showed off His fangs, He settled comfortably at the foot of the bed and, with no further warning, took him in hand. 

The shock was instantaneous; his dick quivered and he yelped, reflexively shifting out of the ice-cold grip and wrapping his own hand around his softening dick…except it was hardening again alarming fast. 

“What happened?” He sounded more surprised than concerned. 

“Y-you're so cold,” he stuttered. 

“No shit, I'm a vampire,” He replied, in a tone that could dry up a rose bush. A beat. “Did you want me to stop?”

“I…didn't say that.”

Fangs bared again, He resumed the grip around his length and got to work, icy fingers running along the shaft. 

“But maybe,” he gasped, “you should warm up your hand.”

“You're still hard, so unless you want to wait like that, I'm gonna keep going.”

Teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, he took deep breaths trying to will his body to relax. Instead, his legs stiffened as the cold seeped through him. 

He moved His hand rhythmically up and down. When his lover swiped His thumb over the tip on the upstroke, he sucked in a breath. This was worse than the cold showers he made himself take in the mornings. Forcing his eyes open, he made himself watch as the pale fist gathered the precome dribbling from his tip and smeared it along his shaft on the downstroke, the slide of it icy and smooth. When he meant to release the breath he'd been holding, a soft moan came out instead, surprising him. 

The hand stilled, and he felt the huff of a laugh against his belly before he fell back on the bed, mortified. He resumed the rhythm, wrist twisting with every stroke, and with His other hand pushed his shirt further up using only the pads of His fingers. 

This time his moan was strangled, hips rising off the bed to meet the movements of His fist. When the tingling cold brushed over his nipples, his mouth fell open in desperation. “Please,” he groaned. 

Breath fanned over his throat now like a gust of winter air as the movements sped up. 

“S-so cold,” he managed through nearly-clattering teeth, even as he felt himself getting closer. 

“You know what's warmer than my touch?” His voice was low with want. 

A whimper escaped him, but he barely had time to consider the blood his lover craved before fangs, sharp as knives, raked over his throat. They didn't press hard enough to pierce, but the sensation coupled with the now frantic rubbing along his _freezing_ cock was too much. Without warning, he came with a shout. The hand slowed as He worked him through it, making a very cold mess that was drying way too quickly. 

“You've never come that hard before,” the voice noted with interest. 

“Not even when you were alive,” he whispered, feeling himself falling into the throes of sleep. 

“I _am_ alive,” He insisted, just like he always did. “You just felt me. You're still feeling me.” He ran the backs of His fingers along his side. “Temperature play, huh?” 

If all his blood hadn't pooled into his core in an attempt to conserve heat, he would've blushed, would've argued the technicalities of alive versus undead. “Your turn,” he suggested instead; sleep was pulling at him. 

“I'll be back for that, don't worry.” The whispered promise was the last thing he heard. When he woke, the mess in his sheets wasn't enough to confirm whether anything was real; he'd just have to wait for nightfall again.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the bae themayflynans ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayflynans/pseuds/themayflynans), [Tumblr](http://themayflynans.tumblr.com)) for the real time moral support and beta'ing! I couldn't have done this without you ;P. Thanks Blu for encouraging me to write this idea and inspiring me with the myserious style and tone of Ashes and Dust!


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